


bite the hand

by Anonymous



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gryffindor Ben Solo, Half-blood Ben Solo, Headmaster Kenobi, I really overdo it with the italicize I'm sorry, Marriage Law Challenge, No one ever tells Poor Rey anything, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Palpatine is basically Voldemort like isn't that the easiest connection to make here, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Protective Ben Solo, Pure-blood Rey, Redeemed Ben Solo, Rey Palpatine, Self-Indulgent, This Is STUPID, Wizarding World (Harry Potter), ravenclaw rey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:22:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24793042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Rey is to be married within the next two weeks.The ceremony will be short and fairly informal, she is grateful for that much.The paperwork preceding said ceremony is a different story.The anger rising in her chest as she glares daggers into the man she is supposed to be marrying is a completely different story.OR: the Reylo Marriage Law Challenge based off ofthisprompt absolutely no one asked me to do ft. noble Gryffindor Ben Solo who can't communicate to save his own life and freaky powerful and kept in the dark Ravenclaw Rey Palpatine who may have a few weaknesses after all.
Relationships: Finn/Rose Tico, Rey & Ben Solo, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 7
Kudos: 64
Collections: Anonymous





	bite the hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BensCalligraphySet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BensCalligraphySet/gifts).



> Putting this out into the world into the Anonymous Collection, for now, because I have a WIP that I haven't updated in three months that I feel super bad about /oops/. Based on [this](https://twitter.com/galacticidiots/status/1272236251391942656) gorg prompt by [Fran](https://twitter.com/galacticidiots) who has put a zillion incredible AU prompts up that really got the creative juices flowin' baby. 
> 
> Tags will change as story goes on, won't be very long, rated for eventual smut, not beta-read and if you're reading this within the first day of posting, I'll be going in and making some edits, I'm so sorry for any dumb errors I just /really/ wanted to put this out there before heading out of town for the week. 
> 
> Stay safe, be well, and please let me know if you like where this is going/what you might like to see in as these stupid idiots learn how to communicate like actual adults.

Rey is to be married within the next two weeks.

The ceremony will be short and fairly informal, she is grateful for that much. 

The paperwork preceding said ceremony is a different story. 

The anger rising in her chest as she glares daggers into the man she is  _ supposed  _ to be marrying is a  _ completely  _ different story.

“Pardon me, an unbreakable vow? My non-compliance will result in life in Azkaban, that’s the decision you’re making? I’m a pure-blood witch, not some prized pig you need to take out an insurance policy on.”

“A prize pig? No, however, you  _ are  _ what some of us at the Ministry may consider a flight risk. Besides, the decision has already been made, you made the decision when you signed the contract on,” the Wizengamot representative pauses and with the lift of his eyebrow, the pages of the documents in front of him begin to flip slowly until he sees what he’s looking for. “Ah, yes. We received your formal, notarized  _ Intent to Accept Terms of Decree for the Strengthening of the Post-War Wizarding Population _ two months ago on the 11th, and your formal, notarized  _ Full Acceptance of Terms of Decree for the Strengthening of the Post-War Wizarding Population _ two weeks later.”

“A flight risk? Excuse me, I wasn’t one of the many witches and wizards you had to chase down to the ends of the earth so you could force me to submit to the decree or cut off my magic. I’m here, aren’t I?” 

She pauses, allowing for one of the three men to object and cut her off should they feel the need to. Silence is all she gets in response, she proceeds. 

“The deal was to get matched, pop a few out, I get to keep my magic, I get my property back after I’ve done my part, right? That’s the deal I came here to leave with, I’ve made my peace with it and have no qualms with it. However, I do believe I at the very least have the right to choose  _ who  _ I’m matched with. I’ve already allowed myself to be subjected to this antiquated farce you lot are calling legislation. I mean really, how original, a  _ marriage law _ ?”

“Miss Palpatine,” Rey bristles when her name falls off the representative’s tongue, masking her discomfort with a cold glare in the man’s direction as he spoke, “while you have been very helpful through this whole process, readily complying, I’m afraid this is really out of my hands. You signed a binding contract that you swore to marry whomever the Ministry formally matched you with after our rigorous screening and questionnaire process, even if I wanted to try to alter the agreement, my hands are tied. As for the matter of you arguing you should have a choice in who you were matched with, may I remind you-”

She knows she’s fighting a losing battle here, knows the representative is right. A contract bound by magic was seemingly one of the things in wizardry that couldn’t be bent. There were no soft lines Rey could blur, no loopholes of any sort she could slip through, she was just buying time. 

“No one’s hands are ever really  _ tied _ ,” the last word comes out as a hiss through Rey’s clenched teeth as she cuts him off. “Gods, you’ve seized all my assets so I can’t even see what my barrister at Gringott’s can do. I willingly turned over everything I have for the foreseeable future, subjecting myself to this sham, and you can’t do me that small favor? I’m not some deviant flight-risk, I’m a bloody archivist who's desperately trying to avoid being married off to someone who hates my guts. Despite my name, I am not my grandfather.”

“Thank Merlin for that.”

It’s the first thing he’s said since they sat down at the massive dark wood table half an hour ago. Her eyes snap from the Wizengamot scribe sitting in the corner who had become the new focus of Rey’s suffocating gaze. He’s been sitting across from her making an obvious, conscious effort to look anywhere but up because looking up would mean subjecting himself to said gaze, and apparently, Ben Solo has decided he’d probably have better luck facing down a Wampus cat. 

“I beg your pardon?”

It’s the first time she’s spoken directly to Ben Solo in seven years and when his eyes slowly roll up to meet hers, pools of dark honey narrowing as they laser in on her, Rey feels as if she’s just submerged her face in a Pensieve. Her senses begin to dull as she felt something blunt start to press at her mind. Visions of  _ that day _ began to float through her head. She could barely register Ben speaking again before zoning out, shoddily repressed memories beginning to fill her thoughts. Her eyes fell to her lap, the corners of her vision starting to blur.

* * *

She hasn’t seen him around campus in the past few weeks leading up to graduation. He’s been off on some mysterious assignment, doing the bidding of Headmaster Kenobi, and she’d be lying if she said his absence has gone unnoticed. She was beginning to believe he wouldn’t even come today, despite being around for a majority of the school year. Despite being around for most of the past few years, actually. 

Ben Solo is out of her league, Rey Jackson knows this. He’s kind of a legend around Hogwarts and she knows people shouldn’t be placed on pedestals but Merlin, Ben Solo had to be the exception to the rule. Gryffindor prefect and Head Boy in his last year, Tri-Wizard Champion when they revived the tournament, worked for the Ministry immediately after graduation before returning to Hogwarts to serve in some research role under Kenobi. He seems noble but at the same time, there’s this air of uncertainty around him, as if he never asked for any of this, it was just thrust upon him. If she’s onto something and he’s insecure he certainly does a pretty good job at hiding it away because to top it all off, she also happens to think he’s the fittest person she’s ever seen. 

The tips of his prominent ears barely poke out from his grown-out hair and he’s clean-shaven but she can tell he could probably grow some fairly impressive facial hair if he felt inclined to. In the seven years since he’s graduated he’s filled out a bit more, it’s hard for her to miss how  _ strong  _ he looks. Suddenly everything feels like too much as she realizes she’s still walking, walking rather quickly, arm linked within her best friend’s, towards Ben Solo. He’s leaning against the wall outside the Great Hall, checking his watch as he taps his foot. 

“Gods, he’s so bloody fit,” she blurts it out loud and is grateful they’re still out of anyone else’s earshot because Merlin; Rey is  _ very  _ tipsy right now and tipsy thoughts about Ben never seem to end well for her. There’s been a  _ lot  _ of pining late at night within the drawn curtains of her four-poster bed. 

His head whips up and suddenly he’s staring her down from across the corridor. There’s no way he could have heard her but her heart still skips a beat and a blush creeps up her cheeks at the thought of him hearing her. What would he say? Would he laugh at her? Remind her he’s known her since she was a mere  _ child _ . She might not ever find out if she doesn’t at least put some feelers out there, the irrational part of her mind begins to chatter.  _ Blimey _ , she’s eighteen now, a proper adult and all that. The flirty, rum-soaked corner of her mind wins this battle. Tentatively, she raises her hand in a shy way, smiling softly at him now that she’s been caught staring. 

His eyes narrow, tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip as he pushes himself off from the travertine wall. He tilts his head to the side curiously before glancing, as if he believes Rey didn’t mean to wave. Rey’s feet begin moving before her mind can catch up, this is it. His eyes are widening as she gets closer and closer but when he’s only halfway there, his attention is snatched away. He snaps his head to the side and she comes to a full stop, following his gaze. 

Two unfamiliar faces are strolling in from outside, late attendees of the graduation ceremony she assumes, a severe, gaunt-looking red-headed man accompanied by a willowy pale blonde woman who could fit right in at Beauxbatons with those high cheekbones. They’re looking at them, they look at Ben, and suddenly they’re staring at her. The blonde raises her hand, mimicking Rey’s shy wave and soft smile but tainting it with something predatory. 

She has no idea who these people are, she thinks they must be confused strangers, but when she looks back at Ben she can see something shift in his eyes. Anger. Suddenly he’s marching forward towards the pair before Rey can even react. He grips the red-head, who's now grinning, by the elbow and practically drags him away from the Great Hall, making a sharp right to pull him into an out of sight alcove. The fair woman doesn’t react other than turning on her heel to follow Ben but not before casting another glance over her shoulder at Rey. Her skin prickles under her gaze and she shakes off the feeling. The rum __ a bad idea.

“Gods, we’re going to be so bloody late, I cannot believe that  _ I  _ am the only reasonable person here right now, because apparently, I’m the only person who didn’t wake up on their graduation day and think: you know what, red currant rum for breakfast sounds like a fantastic idea.”

Her skin buzzes with excitement, or maybe it was the excessive amount of red currant rum her and Rose had giddily thrown back at The Three Broomsticks this morning, surrounded by their classmates. Either way, she struggles to properly listen to whatever Finn’s droning on about as she focuses on teetering through the cavernous stone hallway leading to the Great Hall, feeling a bit jittery from the intensity of Ben’s gaze and a bit nervous about that odd couple but she was tipsy, she was probably being paranoid. Surely, Ben probably recognizes them from something he’s been working on and the animosity she picked up on is her reading too much into things. She needs to push whatever  _ that  _ was away and focus on what lies ahead for her instead. 

A few hours from now she is going to be a Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry graduate, a proud Ravenclaw prefect who is going on to begin her position at the Department of Mysteries, who is leaving Hogwarts hand in hand with her two best friends. 

Rey is beaming, Ben Solo and the odd duo be damned. 

“Darling, baby, love of my life, Finny,” Rose is suddenly pouting, stopping promptly in her tracks as they approach the mass of students queuing up by house before the procession begins. Finn and Rey are both jerked back by the movement, their formal robes swishing dramatically with the sudden movement. Rey quickly drops Rose’s hand, turning to see what was going on as her brows began to furrow. 

“Rosie, what’s going on?” Finn’s hands came up to cradle her face as tears threatened to spill from Rose’s warm brown eyes, her hands coming up to rest on top of his.

“I-, I-, I’m just  _ so  _ bloody emotional right now I have no idea what’s going on, like oh my god this is the last time the three of us are going to be stepping into the Great Hall together, and this is the last time in who knows how long the three of us are even going to be together because we’re like supposed to what just like go be adults now? They tell us we can only use magic in school for like, seven years, and now I have to just go out there and know everything?”

Maybe encouraging a girl who was notorious for seeking out Moaning Myrtle for a sympathetic cry when she was drunk to start her morning with rum on one of the most emotionally turbulent days of their lives so far wasn’t Rey’s best idea. The slight buzz that was thrumming through her veins dampened quickly, Rey jumping into crisis mode at the sight of Rose upset and quickly moving to help Finn comfort the tipsy, hiccupping Hufflepuff. 

“Oh, Merlin, no no no, Rose, don’t be silly,” Rey whispers, beginning to rub assuring circles on Rose’s back, “happy thoughts only today, we’re going to be together again so soon! You’re only going to visit with Paige for few weeks and then you’ll be coming back to London where your brilliant Ministry boyfriend will have already moved you two into your flat and your terribly annoying best friend who works in the same building as him will be popping up unannounced  _ way  _ too often and then you’ll start your incredible mentorship at  _ W.A.D.A. _ and everything will be simply  _ brilliant _ .”

Finn nods quickly in agreement, thumbs tracing along the contours of Rose’s face soothingly as the girl begins to call down. 

“Deep breaths, that’s right Rosie, deep breaths,” Rose nods as she does what Finn says, making a conscious effort to take deep, rhythmic breaths as she regains her composure. Rey reaches for her wand inside her robes before murmuring a cleaning incantation, a more gentle alternative to scourgify, to wipe away the rogue mascara smudges around Rose’s kind eyes.

“Better?”

“Much better,” Rose turns away slightly from Finn, pulling Rey in to join them in a group embrace. 

Rey closes her eyes as the familiar weight of their arms settle around her, holding her tight and anchoring her to the ground beneath her feet. Rey smiles tightly against Finn’s shoulder before they slowly break apart, moving to hold hands in a small circle. Rey gives them both a tight, reaffirming squeeze before she speaks. 

“ _ Brilliant. _ Everything from here on out is going to be nothing short of brilliant.”

* * *

It was the only moment in her head from that day she never got around to sealing off. 

“Excuse me, Miss Palpatine? Reyna? Are you alright?”

She snaps her head up, coming face to face with an incredibly perplexed looking Ben and a suddenly sympathetic Wizengamot representative. She sees Ben reaching inside his jacket, producing a maroon silk handkerchief, cautiously offering it from across the table before she even realizes she’s crying. No full-body wracking sobs, just a single tear manages to escape from the inner corner of her left eye. 

Her upper lip twitches involuntarily as a familiar crackling sensation begins to brew in her fingertips. In response, she clamps her gloved hands together even tighter in lap, willing the sensation to go away as she gathers her composure. Ben eventually retracts the silky material, tucking it back into the inside pocket of his light grey suit, expression unreadable. Rey adjusts in her dark leather chair, crossing her legs primly with her gloved hands clenched, resting in her lap.

“Just peachy,” she lets her words trail off, barely recognizing her voice when she speaks, turning to answer the representative’s question directly.

The nudging sensation at the back of her mind, Ben Solo was trying to read her. He was trying to throw her off. For what? She had no idea. According to the almighty Ministry, she’d already signed away virtually everything  _ but  _ her magic. Rey knew coming here today with the hopes of getting this entire unbreakable magical contract conundrum voided was something akin to a pipe dream. The stark reality she was facing wasn’t going anywhere, but she would not go down without a fight. 

“Peachy? Will you please clarify for the official record what you mean by that? Am I to presume you’re now willing to move onto why we’re gathered here today?”

She turns back to face Ben, his expression now expectant as he awaits her answer. 

“Yes,” she murmurs cooly, “I am ready to discuss the official terms of our marriage.”

Relief washes over her small audience, she can feel it in the air. The scribe sits up straight, ready to begin as the representative nods, wordlessly shuffling the documents in front of him until a new file is being laid out before him with the flick of his wand. 

“Brilliant. We’ll begin with the property clause of the official decree if you’ll both refer to  _ Subsection B _ -”

Rey unfolds her hands in her lap, raising her right hand to signal for him to pause before she interjects. 

“I’m sorry, what I meant to say is that I  _ will  _ be ready to discuss the official terms of our marriage after, and only after, my dear future husband cares to explain what he meant by his earlier remark.”

She swears she feels the air in the room vanish, the two  _ neutral  _ parties in the room turning to face Ben, who Rey was taking the opportunity to look at expectantly. Ben’s expression remains placid, the man seemingly unmoved by her interruption. She assumes his mind is scrambling to come up with some witty retort to avoid further confrontation, she assumes wrong. 

Instead, the bastard  _ grins _ . 

“Gladly.”

Ben sits up straight, leaning forward on his elbows and resting his clasped hands on the dark wood surface between them. His eyes are drilling into hers now and his gaze is unnerving, sparking someone worrisome deep in the pit of her stomach. He’s no longer grinning, but he’s certainly smug as he carries on. 

“I meant exactly what I said. You said you weren’t your grandfather that is undeniably a fact, a fact I am thankful for considering our impending nuptials,” he tilts his head to the side and Rey can feel it again, the dull nudging in her mind. “That’s all.”

He dared to be  _ making jokes right now _ . 

She can’t believe she ever thought Ben Solo could ever be remotely sympathetic. 

“Alright, that’s quite enough of that then,” Rey sits up straight, pushing her sleek hair behind her shoulders and smoothing the skirt of her silky wrap dress. “We’re here to talk terms, after all. Leave us, please, I’d quite like to discuss these things off the record.”

If Ben is bothered by Rey’s sudden pivot, he doesn't let it show.

“Miss Palpatine, it would be quite improper to discuss the legal terms off-the-record, it would demonstrate a lack of a sense of propriety. I’m sure Mr. Solo would object to-”

“I have no objections. You heard her, leave us,” something that vaguely resembles a sly smile passes across his lips. “If only so you’ll have done her one small favor before you leave today.”

The crackle of static under contained by her gloves roars back to life, suddenly Rey is beginning to understand how someone could be driven to use an unforgivable curse. 

The two Wizegamot lackeys file out the room hurriedly, eager to get out so they can stand clear of whatever was about to happen with her betrothed. Once the heavy wood door falls shut with a satisfying thud, she carefully pulls her wand from the sleek black leather holster wound around her waist. He makes no moves to remove his from the inside of his jacket pocket, instead watching her with a curious gaze. With a wordless flick of her wrist, their sets of copies of the terms are laid out between them, Rey’s total submission apparently could be boiled down to twenty neat pages. She knows it’s probably time to start dealing with the reality of their situation and if Ben, seven years her senior, wouldn’t step up to be the mature one in this situation, she would have to. 

“That I actually would have to object to. I would argue that me, sitting here, calmly waiting for you to wrap up your little tantrums probably means it’s safe to say that I’m the  _ mature one  _ here.”

She couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing because if she didn’t know any better, she would say Ben Solo just read her mind. 

“Stop pushing your way into my mind-”

“Maybe stop thinking so loudly then, aren’t you supposed to be a natural-born  _ Occlumens _ ?”

“I’m  _ not  _ the same as that wretched man-”

“I thought we had moved on from that, may we discuss the erumpent in the room now?

“You mean the fact that I’m about to marry a man who couldn’t care less if I lived or died and I’m supposed to be okay with that?”

“No, I mean the fact that your whole little show here has been very confusing for me considering the fact that you  _ chose  _ me, Rey-”

“-and for some sick twisted reason that I’m not quite sure I’m ready to hear out, you  _ chose  _ me, too. 

Silence falls over the room like a heavy curtain, the two of them now silently sizing each other up. As he leans forward, Rey takes him in properly for the first time. She silently laments the fact that his raven hair has grown out enough to completely hide his sticky ears, he’s much more intimidating without them poking out. His grey suit jacket fits tightly across his stupidly broad chest and she hates that she still finds her heart skipping when his tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip. He hasn’t changed much over the past seven years and it seems that unfortunately means her juvenile school crush is currently trying to claw its way out of the depths of her memories; zero regards for how hard she’s been working over the years to forget most things related to Ben Solo. 

It’s probably in both of their best interests if she just diverts this conversation, again. 

She swishes her wand again, the basic terms sheet flitting quietly through the air to land gently in front of her. In the nights since she received her  _ Official Match Offer _ in the mail, she’s been dreaming about being able to will the words on the sheet to change with the sheer will of her mind but here they are, more glaring than ever. There’s a ridiculous amount of complicated Wizegamot and Ministry jargon and a long introduction about  _ why  _ this legislation to preserve the wizarding population must be heeded, but the basic points are fairly simple. 

Rey is signing away the titles and access to all property for a minimum period of at least fifteen years. 

Rey is entering a contracted, binding marriage for a minimum period of at least fifteen years. 

Rey is expected to carry, at minimum, three healthy children to full term within the first fifteen-year period,  _ squibs _ do not fall under the Ministry’s definition of “healthy”.

Failure to comply, in absence of extraordinary circumstances, results in the immediate revocation of both parties’ magic and a very long stint in Azkaban along with the forfeiture of any children conceived within the first fifteen-year period. 

Brutish and coarse? Yes, especially when looking at the fine print subheadings and clauses underscoring each element, but unfortunately after weighing  _ every  _ option it was still somehow the best course of action. 

Before Ben has the opportunity to further press on about the aforementioned hippogriff in the room, she silently does something that shocks him into a state of surprise, mouth now slightly agape as if she can’t believe she’s done it. She sets her wand down, reaching for the large quill before her instead to sign her full name alone the gold embossed dotted line at the end of the terms sheet. The ink flares up, sparkling minutely for a moment before settling into a dark ink, confirming the document's binding properties. 

Spinster,  _ Reyna Palpatine _ .

She sets the quill down with a shallow sigh, thankful her hands are trembling as she does so. When she looks back up from her handiwork, his jaw quickly clamps firmly shut to hide any sort of palpable reaction. There’s a pregnant pause before he sets his wand down behind hers, turning the document to inspect it for himself. 

“That’s it?” Ben’s words come out just above a whisper before he looks back to her. “You have no interest in re-negotiating any of the property terms?”

“None,” she clears her throat before tilting her head slightly, “I’ve been given the impression that it’s probably for the best that I don’t push my luck.” The click of the last syllable rolls off her tongue with a pointed sharpness before she curls her lips over her teeth in an artificial smile. “Go on then.”

“You have no qualms with the clause requiring you to take-” his eyes darken with something Rey would guess is desire, something possessive if she didn’t know any better, “-my name? We could perhaps settle the matter with a duel if you find it disagreeable.”

“Nope,” her accent lilting as she emphasized the  _ p _ . “I’m sure you can imagine I have absolutely  _ zero  _ qualms with losing the one I’ve got. Besides, I think we both know a duel would only end in pain for you and I’m not sure I’m willing to jeopardize this arrangement to indulge this weird affection you have for taking me down a peg. Ask me again in a few years, maybe if you’re lucky something may rub off on you.”

He looks almost pained for a moment as he picks up the quill, upper lip twitching as if he’s physically restraining himself from expressing any kind of emotion. As he said, she was supposed to be the Occlumens but he was currently giving her a run for her money. Her fingers twitch slightly with static as she tries to push forward into his mind, hoping she can catch him off guard for even the slightest moment. There’s absolutely nothing, just a resolute stone wall. He finally moves again, large hand dwarfing the quill but cradling it with a gentle grip as he sets it to his respective golden dotted line. With the quick flourish of his wrist, he’s done it. 

Bachelor,  _ Benjamin O. Solo _ .

Once the ink dries to an ordinary black, Rey’s expecting to feel different. Shouldn’t something be happening? They’ve just entered an unbreakable contract that could ultimately lead to both of their demises without delving into any sort of reaffirming trust exercises. 

Nausea pools deep in her stomach as the weight of what they’ve just done sets in. 

“Rey, we should still talk about-”

“Not now!” She hisses, simultaneously repressing a snarl.

She reaches for her laurel wand, flinging the heavy doors open with practiced ease to signal that their conversation was quite finished for now. 

“We’ll talk about it later,” she manages to calm down enough to push the words out in a level tone, hoping he would let her just drop it. She’d subjected herself to enough humiliation for now, in her opinion. “We’ll talk, before the ceremony.” 

Once again Ben Solo finds himself biting his tongue, his lips settling into a firm line as he tightly nods. Rey’s eyes fall shut for the briefest moment, visibly relaxing as the Wizengamot representative and scribe file back into the room, assuming their prior posts. 

“We’ve agreed upon the set, laid out terms of the original agreement. I request the ceremony take place ten days from now so I have time to get my affairs in order. Additionally, it’ll allow for the official announcement to be published for at least a week because I know how much you all  _ love  _ tradition.”

Ben nods tightly in agreement, moving to stand as soon as Rey does. He’d been sitting when she first arrived this morning and blimey she’d forgotten the man could tell her he’s part-giant and she’d probably believe him. The representative’s eyes light up with relief, clearly excited he won’t be dealing with the two of them for much longer. 

“Well, splendid. If the terms sheet is signed, your binding signature will automatically populate where required on the rest of the necessary paperwork. Now,” he claps his hands together, clasping them momentarily before motioning to the head of the table. “Shall we?”

They moved in sync, walking parallel across the table from each other before turning to face each other once they reach the front of the room. The ornate fireplace is crackling a few meters away from them and Rey is heating up quickly despite her flowy dress. Following instinct and a vague knowledge of how unbreakable vows work, she steps closer to Ben, actively willing herself to stare forward at his chest because she’s not sure how much more brooding intensity she could handle today. Before she moves, Ben offers up his hand, palm facing up. It feels like a sign of submission she wasn’t expecting, it feels like an offer or a question, not a command. She lifts her arm to meet his hand but is quickly paused by the representative whose waiting, wand at the ready. 

“Gloves off, please.”

Rey bows her head to acknowledge him, hesitating momentarily before carefully tugging the snug leather gloves off finger by finger. She takes her time to fold them delicately, hyper-aware of the fact that Ben is still waiting, eyes trained on her, hand outstretched. Folding them carefully in half, she sets them on the edge of the table before turning back to him, and before she can stop it, her eyes rolling up on their own accord. Her breath hitches for a moment when their eyes meet, instincts rushing to fortify the strength of her Occlumency. She can’t let him in, yet.

More eager than ever to get out of her, Rey throws her painfully slow routine out the window hastily. She places her bare hand  _ in  _ Ben’s open palm, in being the operative word because the man is a  _ beast  _ and she’s not ready for it when there’s a physical spark at the contact. Everyone is promptly stunned into silence but Rey doesn’t pull back, sliding her hand further up Ben’s arm to grip his wrist. He mirrors her, eyes trained on her as the shocked representative stumbles to rest his intricately-detailed aspen wand over their connection. 

The fact that she couldn’t close her hand around his veiny forearm while he could easily snap hers in half right now coupled with the warmth that’s starting to flicker in his eyes stirs something in here. 

“Benjamin Owen Solo, do you swear, to the best of your ability, to uphold your sworn word and subject yourself to the terms of this agreement and Ministry decree, sanctifying your marital union?”

His grip flexes around her slight forearm, he’s looking at her one last time for reassurance; she nods. 

“I do,” he sounds affected, mesmerized by the flickering tendrils of fire that have unfurled from aspen wand’s tip, wrapping themselves around and through their wrists, she assumes. 

“Reyna Palpatine, do you swear, to the best of your ability, to uphold your sworn word and subject yourself to the terms of this agreement and MInistry decree, sanctifying your marital union?”

“I do,” she doesn’t hesitate. 

For a moment it feels like the frequency and energy of the room are bumped up before settling back down into an expected, predictable lull. Once the representative holsters his wand, the two slowly separate. Rey can’t help but run her fingertips along the faint silver lines that have been etched into Ben’s skin by the flames; she has matching swirls. She gingerly rubs her wrist, taking a moment to herself as the scribe begins to pack up all of their belongings. 

“Ten days from now you’ll be wed in a small ceremony on the grounds of your new shared home, Skywalker Manor up on the northern coast. While everything is now up to snuff and dealt with on paper, the Ministry believes it’s in the best interest of everyone if you allow a few images to be released from the small affair. With the clout  _ both  _ of your names hold; we believe it may inspire a wave of compliance amongst the ambivalent. You’re expected to have fully vacated your current residence by then, Miss,” the stout man pauses for a moment before smiling smugly, “Miss  _ Solo _ .”

It sends a chill down Rey’s spine, how could it not. The fireplace seems to be roaring more than ever and Rey needs to get out, now. She murmurs apologies before dropping her wrist, moving to quickly grab her wand. 

“Sounds great. Now that we’re all done here, I’ll see you all then,” the scribe and representative skitter to the side as she stands up straight, chin proud and high as she heads for the exit. She feels instant relief the second she’s in the double-wide hallway but she needs more; she needs a clear head and a moment away from her  _ husband _ . 

Speaking of. 

She can hear heavy, steady footsteps not far behind her as she makes her way as swiftly  _ and  _ gracefully as she can manage. Her leather mules are clicking, clacking against the polished stone floors and she’s so so close about to make it out of the manor’s formal parlor when-

“Rey. Rey-, Rey!”

The last one does it. She skids to a halt, mumbling a silent prayer to no one in particular as she tucks her manicured hair behind her ears, a nervous habit. When she looks back to Ben, whose very quickly closing the distance between them, that forceful pushing sensation is back at the edge of her mind and her smile immediately drops. 

“Yes, Ben?”

“I-,” he’s flailing here. He’s flagged her down with not a single clue what to say, because who could know what to say, and if it weren’t for the fact that he had been trying to rile her up earlier, she may feel sympathetic right now. She allows him the small mercy of steeling herself, mental blocks straining from exertion as she reaches out and rests a hand on the crook of his elbow. No spark this time. 

“We’ll talk. I’ll tell you what you want to hear, you’ll tell me the same.”

It’s not a question, it’s a statement. 

He doesn’t answer immediately, instead giving her hand a reassuring squeeze before carefully lowering it between them. He reaches behind her, opening the grand front door and signaling for her to precede him on the way out. Rey complies, whispering a silent thank you as he shuts the door behind them. Without asking for permission, Rey begins to walk away, wand at the ready so she can apparate home once she’s physically far enough away from Ben. 

“Rey,” there’s more conviction this time. 

She looks over her shoulder at him, wrist raised. 

“We’ll talk.” 

Her tight-lipped smile and reassuring head tilt are enough to constitute a response, she thinks. 

They’ll talk, they’ll figure something out. 

Before they end up in a never-ending game of circular farewell bids, she’s gone; back in the living room of her Dalston flat before she can blink thanks to the wonders of apparating. 

The first thing she does is strip out of her stuffy,  _ wizardry  _ garb. She loves a dramatic ensemble just as much as the next girl, but she preferred the quiet power her usual wardrobe possessed. The second after she manages to tighten the waistband of her men's’ sweatpants, God, these things were amazing, she’s flopping onto the white iron bed she’s shoved into the corner of her studio apartment. Rolling over, she grabs her wand off of the old record crate she’s turned into a nightstand and flicks on the turntable in the corner of her apartment. She may be a pure-blood, but life a muggle was all she knew until age eleven when she was first introduced to-

She reverts to her technique of actively trying to derail her thoughts before they get carried away. They said they’d talk about it, and she would rather not dwell on it any further until then. They’ll talk about her. Rey and  _ her husband  _ would talk about it. Rey and her husband  _ Ben Solo  _ would talk about it. 

If fifteen-year-old Rey Jackson could see her now, before she knew any better, she would be ecstatic. Unfortunately, 25-year-old Rey Solo is struggling to feel that way right now. She sets her wand back down, sliding under her covers and clasping her hands together on her stomach. She stares at the peeling, navy-painted ceiling, trying not to think too much about the life she was leaving behind here, the life she had been working so hard to build for herself, the life where she wasn’t a household name for reasons out of her control. 

She rolls onto her side, wiping the dampness gathering in her eyes with the corner of her blanket before closing them, willing her brain to shut down so she can try to get some sleep. Her fingers find their way to her wrist, dancing along the slightly raised marks marring her skin, mind floating back to the image of him earlier; the way he looked at her when their skin first touched. The twitch of possessiveness in his eyes is burning on the inside of her eyelids as she surrenders to sleep.

They’ll talk about it. 

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is a very long-winded start but I really just wanted to vomit most of the universe's foundation up because that's just how I do baby, you know we gonna be gettin' into that good, good action before you know it!
> 
> Again, let me know your thoughts/ideas/critiques so I can push some more of this baby out, stay well y'all!


End file.
